Stitches in Time
by Jo. R
Summary: A series of unrelated drabbles/ficlets written as part of the drabble game on the Gibbs/Abby shipper forum.
1. Prompt: Fire

**Prompt: Fire**

Cold rain lashed against the window pane as lightening struck the ground outside and thunder rumbled ominously in the dark skies above.

Safely inside away from the storm, Abby leaned a little closer to the flickering flames in the fireplace, a shiver working its way down her spine despite the warmth flooding the room.

"Cold, Abs?" Strong arms wrapped around her from behind, drawing her against a firm chest.

She tilted her head back to look at him, smiling when cool blue eyes met green eyes in obvious concern. "I'm okay now," she told him softly, letting her head fall back against his shoulder.


	2. Prompt: Yes

**Prompt: Yes (Slight Borderland spoilers)**

In the end, it came down to a simple yes or no question.

There were no chocolates and flowers or declarations punctuated by colourful prose. There were no sudden life-changing revelations and no surge in hormones that pushed them to and over the edge. (That, she would later remember with a satisfied smirk, had come later.)

It wasn't something that they'd planned, or something that they really needed to think about. It was a simple shift, an evolutionary turn in a relationship they'd never really been able to define.

"Do you still love me, Gibbs?"

The look he gave her told her his answer - and that he was hurt, maybe frustrated, that she felt she had to ask.

Abby bit her lip in an subconscious gesture of nerves, fingers curling and twisting as she stood in front of him in his basement in a scene so reminiscent of one they both remembered all too well. "In a non-paternal way?"

She made no attempt at disguising the hope in her voice; didn't stand a chance at hiding the uncertainty.

Again, one look, one flash of those blue eyes, seemed to say it all.

He tasted like sawdust; she tasted like caffeine-free Caf-Pow.

Hands moved over skin, memorising new territory. Marking it. Branding it. Claiming it.

Later, hours later, when they'd stumbled upstairs and curled up beneath the comforter he wished he'd had a chance to wash but which Abby adored all the more because it still held his scent, she asked the all important question:

"Can you forgive me?"

"Nothing to forgive, Abs." His lips brushed against the back of her neck, arms tightened around her waist. "There never was."


	3. Prompt: Snuggle

**Prompt: Snuggle**

Tears rolled down her cheeks in big, salty drops. Her heart was breaking, aching in her chest so much she felt, for a moment, as if she couldn't breathe. Her stomach churned, unsettled by her anguish.

She turned her head away, unable to watch anymore, though the scene continued to play out behind closed eyelids in full Technicolor in her mind's eye.

Beside her, Leroy Jethro Gibbs tightened his arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer, watching her rather than the movie that played out on the television she'd moved into his place along with the rest of her things.

He would never understand the female mind, Gibbs decided, running a soothing hand over Abby Sciuto's shoulder as she continued to cry softly. Why on earth they'd want to watch movies that made them cry - several times - was beyond him.

Still, he thought as she sniffed and snuggled further into him, soft strains of music filling the room as the movie's end credits began to roll.

As long as fictional movies were the only things making her cry, he wasn't going to complain.


	4. Prompt: Leather

**Prompt: Leather**

The laces were tight but not too tight, assisting the red leather corset in amplifying her cleavage while not restricting her blood supply or breathing... Not enough to seriously hurt, anyway. Abby ran her hands over the warm, supple black leather of the pants she wore alongside the corset as she surveyed her reflection in the full-length mirror.

"Not bad," she told herself quietly, turning slightly to the side so she could survey the back of her outfit, check that the laces looked neat and even and that no eye had been missed. "Not bad at all."

She lifted her hands and ran her fingers through her loose hair, which tumbled in raven soft curls around her face and shoulders. She studied her make-up next, applying a fresh layer of shiny gloss over her already painted lips and adding another layer of mascara to her eyelashes before deeming herself ready.

The invite to the opening of a new club had come rather late in the day but, as she'd had no plans and it felt like months since she'd gone to a good party, she'd worked extra hard to get her report on their latest case done so she had ample time to get ready before meeting her friends at a bar before going on to the main event.

She grabbed her cell phone, checking the screen absent-mindedly to check there'd been no calls while she'd been in the shower, dropping it into her purse when she saw there was none. She grabbed her black lace shawl from the back of the couch as she passed, draping it over her arm in case she needed it.

It was a warm, balmy DC evening. Chances of her needing it were slim, Abby opened the door thinking...

... to none.

She stood still, an eyebrow arched in surprise. The question died on her lips, though, and she found her face wasn't the only part of her body that heated at the way Gibbs' gaze ran over her from head to foot and back up again, the glint in his eyes when blue met green taking her breath away.

Abby found herself walking backwards, warm hands moulding the leather over her hips, her breasts as his mouth took hers in a hot and unapologetically hard kiss.

In some part of her mind, she registered the slamming of the door to her apartment but quickly forgot it as his hands and mouth seemed to be everywhere at once.

Not bad, she thought again to herself later, a dazed grin on her lips as he lay behind her, arms keeping her securely against his chest. Not bad at all.


	5. Prompt: Pigtails

**Prompt: Pigtails**

He loved watching her get ready in the morning, lying back on the bed as Abby moved around the room - either his or hers - with a seemingly effortless grace. She had a routine, whether she knew it or not, and Gibbs enjoyed watching her, timing her, a small grin playing on his mouth as she did everything in exactly the same order, in exactly the same way.

After the shower that they normally shared, she'd pad across the room on bare feet, a towel secured loosely around her body with a knot his fingers itched to untie. She'd cross to the dresser first and take out her underwear, laying them on the foot of the bed as he moved passed her and sat down so he could watch.

Next, she'd cross to the closet and chose out a blouse or t-shirt, before either crossing back to the dresser for a pair of jeans or pants, or lingering by the closet to pick out a skirt that would match. If it was a warm day, she'd go for the skirt. If there was a nip in the air, like there was that morning, she'd go for the pants.

The clothes would lie on the bed for a while, waiting while she blasted the majority of remaining water with the hair dryer and then carefully applied her make up. The towel would then be untied and allowed to drop to the floor, baring her body to his gaze for several, in his opinion, all-too-short moments.

She dressed slowly, her mind already racing at the thought of what the day ahead of them had in store for her. Gibbs enjoyed it, a striptease in reverse, loving it all the more knowing he was the one who would be helping her out of the clothes she'd carefully chosen later that night.

Her hair came last and Gibbs found himself sitting forward on the bed, watching her hands, her fingers, as she divided the mass of black strands into two even parts, securing first the left and then the right section up high on her head with ties that always seemed to match the outfit she was wearing.

Today, her pigtails were tied back with hairbands that boasted bright red cherries, no doubt the match the red cherry print of the shirt she'd chosen. Gibbs' own fingers itched instinctively to take the pigtails down, to tangle his fingers through her hair and grip her head to keep her close while he took what he wanted from her willing lips.

He liked the pigtails, loved them in fact; they were as much a part of her as everything else. But they were practical and professional, representing a side of her everyone got to see, a side of her he had to share with the rest of the world.

"You should get dressed yourself or we'll be late." She broke the silence with a knowing smile, her green eyes darkening as they locked with hers.

Gibbs stood slowly, not caring as the towel around his waist dipped precariously low. He crossed the room towards her with measured steps. He lifted his hands to her hair and ran his fingers through the neatly tied strands of hair, loving the silken feel over his calloused hands.

"I don't mind being late sometimes," he murmured quietly, leaning in to brush his mouth against hers. "If there's a good enough reason..."

Abby smirked and followed when he made as if to pull away, winding her own arms around his neck. "I'm sure I can think of a reason you'd find good enough..."


	6. Prompt: Tension

**Prompt: Tension**

A bead of sweat ran down her spine, causing her to tense against an instinctive shiver. Her hands longed to tremble where they lay against the cool surface of the table in the interrogation room, making her press a little harder against the table to keep them from moving against her will.

Her eyes stung, dry through lack of blinking, but she told herself to keep steady, unwilling to be the one to break eye contact.

Icy blue stared into luminous green, seeing far too much for her liking but still she refused to crack.

"Answer the question, Abby, and it'll all be over."

Abby fought the urge to shake her head, her teeth toying with her bottom lip.

Gibbs leaned across the table, invading her space, so close she found feel his breath on her face. "Just answer the question, Abs. A simple yes or no will do it."

She gritted her teeth and stared at him, tried to look through him the way she'd seen him look through suspects in the past.

Failed when his tongue darted out to lick his lips.

Her gaze dropped to his mouth instantly, in time to see the slow, satisfied smirk spread across his face.

"You ready to just admit it and go home?"

With a sigh that was heavy more for drama's sake rather than anything else - she knew what going home would lead to, after all - Abby drew her hands back to rest in her lap, suddenly exhausted. "Okay, okay. You're right. Seeing you in interrogation mode is a turn on, okay?"

"Good." Gibbs stood and held out a hand for her, warm fingers entwining with her own as he led her to the door and switched off the light, illuminating the empty control room beyond the one-way glass. "Wait till we get home, Abs. Then I'll show you a real interrogation..."

Abby smiled brightly, her cheeks flushing at the implication.

Strangely, she didn't feel all that tired after all...


	7. Prompt: Lipstick

Prompt: Lipstick (Creative Hiatus Challenge)

* * *

It was no surprise that she didn't sleep much; Abby drank Caf-Pows at  
the rate he drank coffee, leaving her just as caffeinated as he was as  
the night slowly slipped by.

While Gibbs wiled the hours away in his basement, drinking bourbon  
until the alcohol counteracted the caffeine and made it possible to  
sleep, Abby had sought her release through dancing until the early  
hours at clubs and parties.

After their inevitable gravitation toward one another, they found  
alternate, more pleasurable ways of using the  
otherwise pent up energy. Gibbs found himself content to work in his  
basement on various projects, teaching her the basics before letting  
her presence distract him and lead unfailingly to his bedroom or the  
first available comfortable surface they stumbled upon.

Afterwards, though, when she was still unable to sleep, Gibbs  
discovered a new habit of Abby's, one that was strange but as uniquely  
endearing as she was.

The first time it happened, he woke up with a start, smudging her  
handiwork on his then-ruined sheets. Abby's form of apology had  
appeased him, though, and he found himself working diligently to stay  
awake despite his sated body's demands in order to observe his lover's  
actions.

The shade of lipstick differed depending on what she'd worn to work  
and what he'd previously divested from her lips through his kisses.  
The content, Gibbs noted, was usually along the same lines.

Scientific theory, sometimes related to their cases but mostly not was  
written across his skin in sometimes garish colours, standing out in  
stark contrast with the scars that marked his body. She would write  
for hours sometimes, a frown of utter concentration on her face until  
she was done.

Afterwards, she'd wash the evidence away with a tenderness that took  
his breath away before curling up against him, a contented smile on  
her face as she finally fell asleep.

Sometimes she wrote messages on his skin, declarations of love and  
affection, claims of ownership and possession.

Gibbs found himself looking forward to her nightly escapades, enjoying  
her attentions and this new side of her that only he was privileged  
to see.


	8. Prompt: It's been a while

Two weeks.

Fourteen days.

Three hundred and thirty-six hours.

Twenty thousand, one hundred and sixty minutes.

Twenty thousand, one hundred and sixty-one minutes.

Abby Sciuto bounced on her toes, willing the elevator to move faster. She could almost hear the seconds tick by, adding to the time she'd been away, the time she hadn't seen the faces of the people she loved the most.

It wasn't, by any stretch of the imagination, the longest they'd all been apart. Cases took the team out of DC every so often, and then there was the three months she tried not to think about when Gibbs had been in Mexico and the time the team had been split up by Director Vance...

... It was the longest she herself had been away from them, knowing they were all together while she was on the other side of the country at a conference in forensics that both enthralled and bored her depending on the lecture she was sitting in at the time.

She'd enjoyed parts of the conference, particularly the seminars held by others in the field she admired and respected. She'd had butterflies in her stomach when she'd taken to the podium herself to explain how she'd managed to help the NCIS team in LA catch the aptly named 'Phantom' killer.

After what felt like an age, the elevator reached the third floor of the NCIS Headquarters on the Navy Yard. Abby found herself suffering from butterflies in her stomach again and had to remind herself to breathe as the shiny silver doors slid open and revealed the familiar sight of the bullpen to her hungry gaze.

Nothing had changed, but in a way it felt like everything had.

She acknowledged the smiles of welcome from the agents she passed with a smile of her own, her body automatically taking the much-walked path even as her head spun dizzily with relief.

She was home.

Tony was the first of the team to greet her, wrapping her in a hug and spinning her in a way that drew an excited squeal from her. McGee followed, hugging her just as tightly but making sure her feet stayed firmly on the floor. Ziva took his place, a pleased smile on her face as Abby initiated a bone-crushing hug.

Ducky, she noted, was probably down in autopsy and she made a mental note to visit him as soon as she could but her attention was quickly distracted by the fourth and final member of the team, the one who stood a little bit apart from the others but who watched her intently, drinking in the sight of her with blue eyes that seemed brighter than she remembered.

Crossing the room to stand in front of him, Abby wondered if the smile on her face was anywhere near as goofy as it felt, her cheeks beginning to ache though she made no effort to tamper it.

"Hey."

"Hey."

They smiled at each other, making no move towards one enough until they'd each taken their fill visually. Then they moved in unison, strong arms wrapping around her waist, drawing her soft body against a solid, warm chest even as her arms wound around him and she buried her face temporarily against his neck, inhaling deeply as if to remind herself of his scent.

Gibbs held her close, ignoring the looks and smirks on his agents faces as he enjoyed his own reunion with his forensic specialist. There'd be another reunion later, he promised himself, one far away from prying eyes and speculative glances.

One behind closed doors he swore he would remember to lock.

"Been too long," Abby mumbled against him, drawing away after several long moments to stare at him again.

Gibbs had to laugh at the expression on her face. "It was only two weeks, Abs."

"Two *long* weeks," Abby corrected, a slight pout on her painted lips. "You didn't miss me?"

Gibbs arched an eyebrow, reluctantly letting his arms drop to his sides when he noticed the Director standing at the railings watching them from above. "You really need to ask?"

Remembering their phone calls, another smile broke out across her face even as her cheeks grew tinged with pink. "Nope. Just checking." She stood on her toes to brush her lips across his cheek, a little closer to his mouth than they normally allowed during work hours. "Gotta go say hi to the Duckman.."

"Don't make plans for lunch," Gibbs told her, catching her hand to keep her from darting passed him. He met her speculative look with a meaningful one of his own.

"Meet you here at twelve," Abby returned. She tugged her hand free and left for the back elevators, throwing him another grin over her shoulder as she went.

Two weeks.

Fourteen days.

Three hundred and thirty-nine hours and twenty-two minutes after she boarded the plan for San Francisco, Abby finally felt like she was home...


	9. Prompt: Contrast

Pale skin, soft and smooth, decorated with ink but otherwise unmarked  
lay entwined with skin darkened by years spent in sun-filled deserts,  
calloused and scarred.

Smiles came easier to her than to him, easier to him whenever she was  
around. The dull, almost constant ache he carried around for so long  
faded in her presence, banished to the background by the simple act of  
her being in his life.

Eleven, twelve years ago when cold blue eyes first met over-excited  
green across a busy lab filled with deafening music, he would never  
have believed that the black haired whirlwind of constant exuberant  
youth would be his saving grace.

He could never have imagined that she was the one who would succeed  
where his last three wives, and countless flings and girlfriends, had  
failed. He could never have known she was the key to him finding peace  
again - hadn't let himself know for most of the years they'd known  
each other.

Holding her against him, soothed by the feel of her heart against his  
chest and by the sound of her steady breathing as she slept the deep  
sleep of the truly contented, Gibbs pressed a gentle kiss to the top  
of her head and sent up a silent prayer of thanks to a God he was  
starting to believe in again before letting himself follow her into  
slumber.


	10. For H not a prompt fic: TLC

It wasn't often the upbeat Forensic Specialist suffered from a case of the blues but sometimes, usually when she was overworked and tired and vulnerable to whatever colds and viruses were flying around the Navy Yard, Abby Sciuto found she just didn't have the energy to be her normal self.

She preferred to ride it out at home, on her own, with her favourite movies and Bert, her ever-faithful friend and stuffed hippo, beside her. There was no need on the others coming around to spend time with her, no need for any of them to risk catching the cold she had although they would all protest that she would do it for them and had done several times in the past.

Abby preferred to be the one making people happy, nursing them back to health with her own unique brand of love and affection rather than being the one who had to sit there and take it.

It was something he could understand, actually. Something Leroy Jethro Gibbs and his favourite forensic scientist had in common.

Still, despite knowing how she felt, Gibbs found himself stopping by the nearest grocery store when he left the Navy Yard at the end of the day, having heard from a concerned Doctor Donald 'Ducky' Mallard that he'd recommended their girl go home early.

He spent a little too long for comfort dithering in front of the display of ice cream in the coolers, a frown on his face as he tried to recall which brand was her favourite. He knew her favourite flavour when she was feeling under the weather - raspberry ripple when she was feeling really rough, rocky road when she started to feel better - but couldn't remember the brand name that had mysteriously appeared in his freezer the week she'd camped out at his house after he'd been injured on a case. (He'd been injured - shot at, stabbed, hit by cars - so many times that he couldn't recall which time it was.)

After what felt like an age, he was finally stocked up on everything Abby insisted was comfort food – some nutritious, other items indulgent, all familiar from the various times she'd taken it on herself to take care of him or another member of his team.

He drove the short distance away from the store to her apartment, grateful for the lack of security at the entrance of the building even as he shook his head and made a mental note to remember to talk to her about upgrading her accommodation. It was a familiar argument between the two of them, and one he was determined to eventually win.

Letting himself into her apartment with the key she'd entrusted him with, Gibbs entered without calling out a warning, arching an eyebrow when she didn't even stir from her place on the couch. The floor around her was littered not with tissues as he'd been expecting but with the boots she'd been wearing to work that morning and her collar and matching wrist bands.

She still wore her jacket and the rest of her clothes and lay curled up on the couch, shivering as she slept.

Shaking his head, glad he'd decided to trust his instincts and head over to her place instead of following what he knew would have been her instructions had he called first, Gibbs headed first for the kitchen, depositing the bag he brought with him on the bench before retreating to her bedroom, grabbing the throw folded neatly at the end of the bed and carrying it back through to the living room.

He tucked it around her, arching an eyebrow when she merely sighed in response, resting his hand against her forehead. He was relieved to find she didn't have a temperature and stood after ensuring the throw was covering every part of her.

Heading back to the kitchen, he unpacked his supplies, storing them away using his memories of having watched her unpack her own groceries once when he'd driven her to and from the store when her faithful car had let her down.

When he was done, he returned to the living room. He sat in the chair opposite the couch for almost an hour before she woke up, meeting her bleary gaze with an arched eyebrow before she could even consider protesting.

Seeing there was no sense in arguing, Abby sat up and pulled the blanket further around her shoulders. When she shivered, Gibbs got up and moved to sit beside her, drawing her closer, hiding his grin when she sighed softly and snuggled further against him.

Within a matter of minutes, she was asleep again, her breathing calm and even. Gibbs propped his feet up on the coffee table in front of him, prepared to settle in for the long-haul.

He wouldn't fuss over her because he knew she'd hate it as much as he would were their situations reversed but he was determined to take care of her and help her until she was back on her feet again. She would do it for him, he knew, and it felt good, not to mention right, to return the favour.

****


End file.
